top of page

Twisted Game
Bonus Scene


I hold my tattoo gun in one hand, looking down at Willow as she stares up at me from her spot on the couch.

Her lips are parted, a mix of nerves and excitement written across her delicate features.  I’ve seen that look on her face before, and I like it a whole lot more than I probably should. There’s something so fucking enticing about the way she tries to be good, to deny her base and primal urges. Her innocence makes me want to corrupt her, if only to prove to her how much she might like being corrupted.

A burst of possessive energy surges through me, and it catches me off guard with its intensity.

There’s a reason for everything we’re doing tonight. A plan. But this part of it? These feelings clawing at the inside my chest? They aren’t part of the plan. They’re just an undeniable reaction to the sight of Willow’s wide brown doe eyes locked on me.

She doesn’t have any tattoos. The burn scars that cover patches of her skin are evidence of the things she’s fought and overcome, just like I have. But there’s not a single line of ink on her body yet. I’ll be the first person to add something to that delicate skin of hers, to create art on that beautiful, tempting canvas. That thought makes the beast inside me roar with approval, pleasure stirring in my gut.

I tip her chin up, holding her gaze as my fingertips linger on the curve of her jaw.

“I want to mark you,” he say, the words spilling out almost on their own. “I want to put a tattoo on you.”

Her breath catches, and a thousand different emotions flash through her eyes. There’s fear there, probably a mix of shyness and apprehension about the pain, but there’s something else too—a wildness that sparks and calls to me. It makes me want to draw her out, to challenge her, to push her past every limit she thinks she has and reveal the tigress that lies behind the eyes of this delicate little kitten.

Willow hesitates for a moment, her throat moving as she swallows, and then finally nods her agreement.




“Take off your shirt,” I growl at her, not looking away as he moves to obey. Ransom and Victor are watching too, but I’m not thinking about them right now. In this moment, I’m not focusing on anything other than the petite blonde woman in front of me.

I can’t tear my gaze away as she pulls the shirt over her head, revealing her simple black bra and the mess of scars on her shoulder and arm. I’ve gotten glimpses of them before, especially when I stripped her out of her clothes after finding her on that golf course, but this is the first time I’ve had a chance to truly take them in.

As I kneel in front of her, I’m close enough that I could reach out and touch them, but I keep my hands to myself, not sure I’ll be able to stop if I let myself touch her now.

There’s a second where she looks like she wants to cover herself up, but she doesn’t, taking a breath and staying still instead.

I run my eyes over the scars, making no effort to hide the fact that I’m looking. She’s clearly self-conscious about the marks, but she shouldn’t be. Even though the scar tissue doesn’t match the rest of her skin, there’s something beautiful about the way it swirls and twists over her body. Willow isn’t perfect, and she’s not trying to be. She’s not like that overly made up bitch I fucked weeks ago, before all this started, with her fake blonde hair and her fake tits and her high pitched moans.

All of that shit was an act, just a show, because that girl thought it was what I wanted.

But nothing about Willow is fake, all the way down to her scars. She’s got real pain in her past, real struggle, real emotions, and she couldn’t hide those if she tried. She’s messy and imperfect, as real as it gets, and I fucking like that.

She doesn’t move to get rid of her bra, seeming almost locked in place, so I move in to do it for her.

My hands aren’t gentle as I peel down the straps of it, but I don’t go out of my way to be too rough with her either. I reach around so I can unhook the back, tossing the bra off to the side somewhere. Vic will be pissed about that, but right now, I don’t really give a shit. He can deal.

Something in me really likes the way Willow lets me undress her. She doesn’t even try to cover herself up or flinch away. It’s a gesture of trust, maybe, or some sign that she thinks she knows me know.

Knows I won’t hurt her.

Not too badly, anyway.

That thought makes the predator in me rise closer to the surface. She’s so delicate and perfect, and the monster in me wants to bruise her petal-soft skin. Leave my mark so she can’t ever forget it.

For a long moment, I just look her over, analyzing and letting my artist’s brain take over. There’s this deep pleasure in knowing that this is her first tattoo. She’s like a blank canvas, all unmarked space for me to consider, and that makes this a bit different from how I usually approach giving a tattoo.

Usually, the person already has some in, so I have to consider how the new piece will fit in with the old, how it will work with the space they have left to fill. But with Willow, it’s all empty potential. Whatever I put on her, wherever I choose to leave my mark, I’ll be staking my claim first.

My eyes are drawn to her tits—both for the obvious fucking reasons, and because they’re close to her heart. When my gaze lands on her left breast, I give a tiny nod. There. It’s a damned good spot for something like this.

“Where are you going to put it?” Willow asks, her chest heaving a little with a deep breath. I can practically feel the anxiety radiating off her, but she’s not backing down.

Instead of answering, I just lift the tattoo gun and lean in closer between her legs, getting a good angle for where I want to start working. The buzz of the gun is loud in the room, and Willow gasps softly when I click it on.

“Oh…,” she breathes.

I can feel her heart racing when I put the tip of the gun to her skin, and I flick my gaze up at her, wanting to see what she looks like as I tattoo her.

Pain flashes over her face, her nostrils flaring and her jaw going tight. She grits her teeth and grips onto the couch cushions, trying to breathe through the pain, and something that feels a whole lot like pride flashes through me.

Willow is tougher than she looks, and she’s determined to take this. Determined to conquer the pain instead of letting it conquer her.

Good fucking girl.

I wipe away the excess ink from the tattoo, eyeing it to make sure the design is coming out the way I want it. Then I dive back in, moving the gun from line to curve to angle, sketching out the image that’s in my head onto her perfect, pale skin.

It’s like there are two sides to my brain right now.

The first part is the artist, the side of me that’s looking at the tattoo critically, trying to make it come out the way I want it. The second part is listening to every noise Willow makes, savoring those little whimpers and gasps, hungry for more of them because they make me hard as fuck.

By the time I have a basic outline done, my cock is pressing against the fly of my jeans, but I don’t stop to adjust it. I just keep going.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ransom get up and come over. He settles down next to her on the couch.

“The first time is always the roughest,” he says. “I’ll help you through it.”

More like distract her through it, but whatever.

He doesn’t hold her hand like someone else might. Instead, he goes right for the space between her legs, undoing her pants enough to have room to work his hand inside. There’s a quiet intake of breath from the other side of the room, and I know that means Vic is still watching. He won’t touch her, but he has no problems watching us do it, apparently.

Good. I know this it outside of his comfort zone, but he needs to be a part of this just as much as we do.

Ransom does something with his hand that makes Willow jerk in place, and my nostrils flare as I grunt my displeasure.

“Sorry,” she gasps out, and there’s already a desperate edge to her voice.

I try stay focused on the work in front of me, moving the gun along the curve of one section, pausing, and then going back over it to thicken the line. This close to what Ransom is doing to her, I can smell Willow’s arousal. It’s a sweet, heavy scent, and it’s distracting as hell.

I take a deep breath, letting the addictive scent settle on my senses, and use that to push me into working on the tattoo more. Whatever Ransom is doing with his fingers is clearly affecting Willow, but that’s not the only thing working her up right now. The pain from the tattoo is a part of it too, and I smirk to myself, thinking again about how she likes to play at being a good girl.

A good girl wouldn’t be squirming on the couch from the mix of pain and pleasure taking over her body. A good girl wouldn’t be doing this in the middle of the living room where we can all see her.

The mixture of pleasure and pain is potent as hell, and Willow definitely isn’t immune to it. She jerks, shifting her hips on the couch, and I lift the gun away from her skin before it can fuck up my line.

“You’re making her move too much,” I bite out at Ransom. “I’m almost done.”

“Sorry,” my brother says, but he sounds smug as hell, so I know that’s not true.

I don’t even waste time shooting him a look, because I know it won’t do anything right now. Not when he’s riding on his own high from getting Willow this close to coming apart on his hand.

“Here,” Vic says. A second later, he gets up and comes over to join our little trio at the couch. He sits down on the other side of Willow, moving in close to her. “I’ll help.”

That makes me raise my eyebrows, because usually Victor keeps his distance. He’s the one who tends to stay on the outskirts of things, watching and recording, making mental notes for later and shit. He doesn’t touch, and he doesn’t touch women especially.

But apparently, Willow is the exception to a lot of things these days.

Vic doesn’t touch her the way Ransom does. He doesn’t slide his hand into her pants or anything, but he holds her down, keeping her still while Ransom keeps working her up.

I can tell she likes it, because her heart starts pounding even harder beneath the spot I’m tattooing.

Goddammit, I’m so fucking tempted to just toss away the tattoo gun and make this girl come over and over. I could push Ransom’s hands away, let him occupy her mouth while I eat Willow out. I can still remember the taste of her on my tongue the last time I did that, and she’d be so fucking sweet like this. Held down by my brothers, desperate and writhing for more.

It makes my cock pulse angrily, and I have to drag in a breath to keep my shit under control.

I’m an artist, and I take pride in my work. Even if it wasn’t Willow, I wouldn’t leave a piece half done, and since it is Willow, I want my mark on her to be complete.

She trembles between Ransom and Vic, moaning and whimpering, her thighs spread wide. I tune it out enough that I can finish her tattoo, going over the lines one more time to make sure they’re perfect before leaning back to look at the whole thing and check it over.

The image I’ve drawn on her skin looks good. The numbers 2 and 4 curl around each other in black ink, standing out sharply on her pale skin. Those numbers mean a hell of a lot to me, and in a way, it feels right to have them there, right over her heart.

“Almost done,” I mutter.

When I drag the gun over a spot I’ve already done, darkening some of the shading, Willow whines softly, and I curse in my head as my cock throbs in response. There are a shit ton of ways I could get her to make that noise, and I want to be doing that. But I need to finish this first.

“You’re doing so well,” Ransom says, leaning in to murmur in Willow’s ear. “You’re so close.”

“I am,” Willow pants. “I’m so—”

I switch the gun off before she can finish speaking, pulling it away from her breast.

And that’s the moment Willow finally gives in to it all and lets herself fall apart. I watch her as she shakes through her orgasm, writhing against Vic’s hold on her. Her face flashes with pleasure, her eyes closed and her lips parted. It’s fucking beautiful sight, and it goes straight to my dick, making it ache.

She looks so fucking good like this. The skin of her chest is a little swollen and bloody from the tattoo, and her face is flushed. She looks wrecked, in a way, and we’re not even done with her yet.

“Holy shit. That was fucking beautiful,” Ransom says.

He’s the one with the words for this kind of shit, but he’s right. That was one of the most stunning things I’ve ever seen.

Willow takes a second to gather herself, dragging in a few long breaths, and then she looks down at her chest, examining the tattoo I gave her. There’s a warmth in her expression that tells me that she likes it, and a fresh rush of pride floods me.

She’s got my art on her body, and she’s happy with it.

“What does it mean?” she asks, looking back up at me.

It means a lot of things, to be honest. The numbers have meaning for me, symbolizing the strength and resolve that I found in the aftermath of one of the worst moments of my life. And the tattoo itself means she’ll never be able to forget me or my brothers. Even if she leaves here after this shit is all said and done, she’ll always be marked by us. Branded, in a way. It gives me a savage satisfaction to think of it.

A smile pulls at my lips as I look at her. “It means you have a tattoo now,” I say, keeping the rest of my thoughts to myself. “Just like us.”

Usually, she’d have some kind of sass to throw at me for giving her an answer like that, but Ransom chooses that moment to pull his fingers out of her pants, making her suck in a breath. She turns her attention back to him, and he leans in, raising his fingers, which are slick with her arousal.

“We had dinner, but not dessert,” he says, a hungry, teasing light glinting in his eyes. “You’re so sweet, pretty girl. You should taste yourself and see how fucking delicious it is.”

Willow moans when he slides two fingers into her mouth, and we all watch her, transfixed as she licks them clean.


My heart is beating faster, and my cock is so hard it’s goddamn painful at this point. Heat is building in the room, and none of us are immune to it. The tension grows thick, and Ransom leans in, chasing Willow’s mouth with his own like he wants to get his own taste of her.

Willow leans into it eagerly, and the two of them melt together so easily that it sends a strange surge of something almost like jealousy through me.

I’ve never been jealous of Ransom before. He’s got a casual sort of charm, an easygoing quality that draws people to him in a way they’d never be drawn to Vic or me. But despite the fact that no one has ever described me as easygoing, I’ve never had a problem finding women willing to climb into my bed.

So this feeling twisting around in my chest is… unexpected.

I’m not even jealous of the kiss, really. It’s more about the way Willow seems to trust Ransom, much more than she does me or Vic. She melts against him, orients around him, and I can’t forget how she chose him to sleep with when she first got here, as if the answer was obvious.

She seems drawn to me too, for some reason—but it’s in a different way, like a moth to a flame. I’ll wreck her, and she knows it, but she still can’t seem to stop flitting toward me over and over again.

We have our little moments, and then she’s flying off again, back to the safety of someone like Ransom.

Someone who can handle her softly and comfort her. I’ll never be able to treat her gently the way Ransom does. It’s just not who I am.

And that’s what makes me so fucking jealous. Because I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to touch the part of her he already seems to have claimed.

Ransom gives Willow a look that’s full of heat, wrenching me from my thoughts as he speaks again.

“Hey, angel. Remember that dream you had about us?” he asks her, his voice low.

Willow nods, her answer barely more than a breath. “Yes.”

My brother smiles widely, his gaze still locked on her. “Tell us what you dreamed about.”

Something hangs in the air, and I set my tattoo gun aside and settle into one of the easy chairs that faces the couch as I wait to see if Willow will do what he says. I can guess what Ransom is getting at. Willow must have had some dream about all of us that she’s embarrassed about.

There are nerves and anxiety playing out on Willow’s face, and for a second, I’m certain she’s about to say no.

But instead, she clears her throat and finds her voice.

“I was… asleep. Not just in real life, but in the dream too,” she begins. “In Ransom’s bed. And he was… he was there with me. Kissing me. I could feel his mouth on me, kissing the back of my neck and down to my shoulders. It was like his mouth was everywhere.”

She talks in fits and starts, as if she has to keep reminding herself to keep going. Or like she needs little breaks to handle the blush on her cheeks. All of us watch her intently, not looking away for a second as she weaves together the pieces of this dream to paint the picture for us.

When she talks about how Ransom touched her, she blushes darkly, stuttering over her words. I can tell she’s about to stall out, her bravery fading a little.

But I know she’s got more courage hidden away inside her. Hell, this woman marched up to me as I pointed a loaded gun at her and practically dared me to pull the trigger. She’s got a fucking backbone of steel, even if she forgets it sometimes.

So I don’t let her back down. I don’t let her back away.

She dreamt it, and now she can damn well say it.

“Where did he touch you?” I prompt, my voice raspy and hard.

“Between my legs,” she whispers, and her voice is so soft I can barely hear it.

“Through your clothes?” I demand.

She just shakes her head, her blush deepening.

Fuck, that little head shake.

My dick is about ready to punch a hole through my pants. All things considered, it probably shouldn’t be as hot as it is to listen to her describe the sex dream she had about us, but it is. It’s hot as fuck. Hotter than listening to any woman I’ve ever fucked talk dirty. There’s always some element of performance with that, but with Willow, it’s just innocence and sweetness. She’s describing something dirty, my brother putting his hands all over her, touching her between her legs, and it’s a complete turn on to hear how it sounds in her voice. The way she struggles to get it out, but is turned on herself, just from describing it all.

“We want the details, angel,” Ransom presses, teasing her jaw with his fingertips. “Every single one of them. Where was I touching you?”

“You were… touching my… my clit. And then, um, you pushed your fingers into me.”

“Into what?”

I tilt my head as I ask, pushing her to give us more. I can’t help myself. I want to drag her out of her comfort zone just to see how she’ll handle it. I want to hear her say more filthy shit in that sweet voice.

She looks frustrated, but of course my little Solnyshka doesn’t back down. Rather than caving under my heavy stare, she squares her shoulders, determination gleaming in her eyes.

Vic and Ransom both join me in trying to draw the words to come out, asking her more questions, and Willow looks like she might burst from embarrassment, or lust, any second now.

“He pushed his fingers into my… p—”

She stops there, her voice cutting out, her cheeks turning even redder, if that’s possible.

I smirk, leaning forward in my chair and pinning her with my gaze. “Into your pussy? Is that what you’re too scared to say?”

“I’m not scared!” she bites back, glaring at me.

Fuck yes. I love that.

I love her fire and that spark in her that makes her challenge me. With anyone else, it would piss me the fuck off, but with her, it makes heat rise in my veins.

“Then say it,” I shoot back. “Say the word, Solnyshka. Pussy.”

Her eyes flare with that stubborn determination, and she moves her lips slowly as she drags out the word. “Pussy. He pushed his fingers into my pussy.”

I grin, unable to fucking help myself. Then I lean back, dipping my head in a nod. “Better.”

It seems like it gets easier for her from there. She describes what Ransom did to her and how Vic and I were there, watching. I stare at her while she talks, unable to look away. When she admits that she wanted us to do more than watch her, pride and satisfaction churn inside me.

Because that’s how it would be.

No way in hell would I be able to just stand there watching while Ransom had his way with her. I’d have to get in there too. Get my hands on her. Leave my mark.

My cock is fucking screaming at me, and I give in to the urge to palm it, needing that relief to take the edge off. Ransom is doing the same thing, looking just as affected by Willow’s words as I am. Vic has more control than both of us combined, so he’s just gripping the arms of his chair, but even Willow has to be able to see from the look in his eyes that he’s turned on too.

We had a general plan for how tonight would go. Victor got the cameras laid out ahead of time, ready to go, but we didn’t plan everything down to the letter. We couldn’t, since there was no way to know how Willow would react.

But this?

This is so much more than I ever imagined. It’s as if she’s got us under a spell, almost, the three of us orbiting around her, hooked on her voice, her face, her scent, and every other fucking thing about her.

I knew we all had a thing for her when she moved in here, no matter how much I tried to deny it. When Ransom called me out for refusing to admit how I felt about her, he wasn’t fucking wrong.

But I didn’t expect it to be this intense. I didn’t expect all of us to be so caught up in it.

In her.

My desire for Willow feels like a fucking craving. Like an addiction that it would kill me to break.

The silence in the air is thick as Willow finishes describing her dream. Tension fills the living room, and I know it will only be a matter of time before one of us does something to break it. It’ll be me or Ransom, since Vic won’t make a move. He’ll just watch whatever happens, dealing with his need in his own way.

And in the space of my next heartbeat, I decide it’s going to be me who does something.

My voice comes out hoarse from how fucking turned on I am as I catch Willow’s eye and lift my chin.

“Come here,” I tell her, the order snapping out into the room.

She registers the command, and she’s up and moving faster than I expect. I thought she’d fight with herself about it a bit, but by now, she’s clearly as caught up in this as my brothers and I are. It’s almost like a web has been woven around all of us, blocking out everything else except this moment. Except the four of us.

Good. That’s how it should be.

As soon as that thought passes through my mind, I realize that her just walking over here isn’t enough.

“No,” I murmur, shaking my head. “Crawl to me.”

We have a show to put on for the cameras. We have to make this look convincing. So maybe that’s why I push her the way I do. Or maybe it’s just because I want more. I want to push her limits and see how far I can make her go. See how deep the streak of dark desire inside her will take her.

It’s not as easy for her to obey this time, and I can pick out the struggle in her eyes. Instead of speaking again, I just wait, not looking away from her. The brown of her irises seems darker now, like a rich chocolate, and her tongue darts out to wet her lips as her breathing picks up again.

She’s debating. Wrestling with herself—the woman she could be fighting against the woman she thinks she’s supposed to be.

Then, slowly, she gets down on her hands and knees, arousal edging out the shock in her eyes.

Fucking hell.

I almost come in my goddamn pants on the spot.

She crawls to me, and I watch her, something lighting in my chest. Until right this fucking second, I don’t think I really realized how deep under my skin Willow has truly gotten. But watching her get down on her knees and crawl to me because I ordered her to?

There’s no denying it.

She’s like a drug. Like a poison, weakening me and making me crave more all at the same time.

And god fucking help me, I never want to give this drug up.

She comes all the way over, stopping in front of my chair when she reaches me. She looks up at my face, those innocent eyes burning with a heat that makes me want to devour her whole. Everything about her is so fucking tempting, like she was made to bring me to my knees instead of the other way around.

I reach out and grab a handful of her hair, twisting my fingers hard enough that it has to hurt a little. I’m almost pissed off that I want her this much. She looks at me, and it’s like a punch to the gut.

I’m not used to feeling like this.

Sex has never been about emotion for me. It’s about release. It’s about easing some of the goddamn pressure that builds up in my veins when I go too long without fucking or fighting. I pick women who look like they can handle me, fuck them, and then kick them out.

I’ve been doing it that way for long enough that it’s almost like one of Victor’s routines. Ingrained in me.

But Willow has thrown all that shit out of whack, knocking me off my axis, making me want things I bever thought I’d want before.

I stare at her, searching her face as she stares up into my eyes and the hidden cameras record our every movement.

“That dream of yours was pretty tame, all things considered,” I say quietly. “It was nothing compared to what it would be like in real life.”

Maybe part of me is trying to scare her, trying to make sure she realizes that she’s playing with fire right now. That she’s dancing so close to the flames that this time, they won’t just leave a small patchwork of scars on her. They’ll incinerate her. They’ll swallow her up.


The word I said to her the other night passes through my head, but this time, I don’t say it out loud. Because the truth is, even if it makes me a monster, I don’t want her to run.

She can’t. She’s ours now.

But Willow doesn’t look like she wants to run away. She swallows hard, her gaze locked on mine, and she licks her lips. I watch the motion, following her tongue with my gaze as it slips back into her mouth, barely resisting the urge to follow it with my own.

“I know,” she whispers. “I just… didn’t know what it would really be like.”

I tug on her hair a little harder, barely in control of my desire or my emotions right now. I’m not in control, even though I’m holding all the cards right now. I’m as caught by Willow as she is by me, and I can’t even fight it.

“Do you want to, Solnyshka?” I rasp out. “Do you wanna know what it would really be like?”

Willow nods.

It’s a small movement, a slight jerk of her head, but it’s a yes all the same.

Something loosens in my chest, relaxing a bit, as if it was waiting for her to give the affirmative. The predator in me roars again, demanding, almost desperate to take her. To mark her and challenge her just to see how much she can take.

“Good girl.”

I let her go, and she falls back a bit, sitting back on her heels. I don’t look away from her and her upturned face as I undo my pants, finally freeing my cock. It throbs angrily, and my heart beats in time with it.

Despite her delicate features and how soft she is, I’m certain this woman is about to ruin me.

We’re about to cross a line, a boundary that was in place so her being here wouldn’t be a distraction. But that’s all down the drain now, and it was a pointless rule anyway. Not fucking her didn’t do a damn thing to keep her from working her way under my skin.

Under Vic’s and Ransom’s too.

I shove my pants down enough to get them out of the way and stare down at Willow.

“Then you can start by sucking my dick.”

bottom of page